


Something new

by space_train



Series: Some Monster Lovin' [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Fantasy, Fantasy Racism, Fluff, Human/Monster - Relationship - Freeform, Human/Monster Romance, slight homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25341724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_train/pseuds/space_train
Summary: "Something OldSomething NewSomething BorrowedSomething Blue"You've never quite felt like you belong in your small town.A visit from the royal guard helps illuminate some reasons why.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Reader, Reader/Orc, Reader/Orc woman
Series: Some Monster Lovin' [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835281
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69





	Something new

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe one day I'll be able to write something less than 3000 words. But for today, take a long self-indulgent fluff-piece.

Your family ran a tavern. The only resting stop for miles, based in your small mountain town; A nice offshoot from the capital, remote yet a suitable place to restock and peruse for jobs. Despite the frequency of newcomers to sell their wares to, the townsfolk make sure no outsiders stay for long. A stubborn and simple-minded people they are and rarely did anyone long to “settle” in your home. You were either a human, born and raised here, or a visiting customer. Visiting, never staying. 

You had always loved adventurers. After slicing your palm open with a scythe when you were eight you had fostered little interest in actually  _ becoming _ one, but the natural book-worm in you thought of them as storybook characters. Adventurers always came with interesting stories, big personalities, and enough money to spend for a couple days. It became common knowledge among your sisters that a knight with a sword in their scabbard means two things: New dresses and the bellyaching of your father. 

While you and your three sisters do help run the taverns, it bears your family’s mark in the name, your Father is not shy to say that it is _ his _ tavern. This is despite spending most of his time in the back office, complaining about non-existent money shortages and other natural grumblings of a sour old man. 

Although they bring in curious townsfolk and the right amount of coin, your father is a simple man. He has carved out a snug profitable position for himself in his hometown and he thinks anyone who hasn’t done so is a “ laybout, scoundrel, vagrant with nothing better to do.”

Being the youngest of four has limited your prospects and ambitions from a young age, especially around the expectations of your father. You’re pretty sure all your father saw you as was a pretty-face, one to pass off to a well-to-do husband who didn’t ask for too high of a dowry. You could count on your fingers the amount of times you had a conversation not pertaining to one of those things. It is better that way. No attention from father meant you were doing something right, not standing too tall or hunching too low. 

Still, he can’t police your thoughts when you're waitressing, every new patron only stoking your want for a little bit more than is expected.

\------

You’re nearing 20 years old when the royal family decides to host a grand tourney in your town. It seems some party has found a nice skein of precious metals in the mountains and the capital seeks to bolster your home into a tradesport, the tourne a ploy to attract more affluent, permanent settlers to encourage the economy. 

The townspeople are split in two, especially your father. Workers from all over come into town, stay at inns or set up camps, to help build the arena. Most of your friends complain of family members lamenting the influx of people over dinner, all the while fervently hawking their goods the next day. Your father is no different.

“A tourney. Good for our boys, sure, but I can’t imagine the riff raff which will come in, make a mockery of our town.” He snarls into his bite of cornbread, his new ring catching the softlight of your living room lamp.

“Well, think of it this way Father,” Your oldest sister, Giselle, reaches a hand over to his. “Maybe some of these soldiers will catch ___’s eye? Sweep her off her feet, perhaps they will even wish to aid in the family business, don’t you agree ___?”

You meet your sister's eyes and although it is hidden swiftly, you notice the biting intention behind them. How can you not, when it seeps into your skin whenever she speaks of you.

_ This is your chance. _

Now all eyes are turned towards you. You pray to whatever power to be that you regain the invisibility you had at 14, before your monthly bleeding came in and so did your father’s thoughts of suitors. You know you are the last unmarried daughter, you  _ know  _ you are 20, you just….need some time.

“Not so sure about that one,” Your other sister, Elizabeth, comments, taking the tiniest bite out of her dinner, “I hear the royal guard accepts anyone. One of James’ cousins, y’know, the one with the summer home in Lameer, says they even let  _ orcs _ into the battalion.”

Your dad makes a dramatic sound of disgust into his food and you roll your eyes.

“Well I heard that one of their generals is a tiefling!”

“Gods, what was that poor king thinking.”

Your family is exhausting.

\------

Despite Elizabeth’s ‘warning”, your father still insists you dress in your finest clothes and join the gaggle of other town’s girls going down to meet the incoming soldiers a week later. Your sisters help tighten your corset and fix your hair. Before you even leave your sister Jane leans into your ear and whispers, “Shoulders back, chest out, don’t forget to smile. Men like a woman who laughs easily and looks pretty while doing it.”

You nod and ignore the sinking pit in our stomach.

The idle chit chat with the girls is nice, surprisingly pleasant. Your group is composed of about 30 of the eligible bachelorettes of the town. The gossip is sent into a flurry when Marianette Renaldi joins you all at the last second.

The whole town had been enraptured by her, supposedly, upcoming courtship with your town’s most eligible bachelor Maurice. The girls are quick to flock with her, preening and suggesting questions without being too obvious.

You aren’t surprised at all, you would be more surprised if she had said yes to his offer. From a young age you had learned quickly that all the boys your sisters had other girls fawned over weren’t...as amazing as they said. A boy named Frederick in your grade school class was the belle of the ball to all the other seven-year-olds, but he just looked like a regular old boy to you. You thought the same of Maurice, the mayor’s son. Sure his hair was the most well-combed and he didn’t seem too pompous, but he was hardly anything compared to Marianette. She was spectacularly beautiful, with short black hair made to run your fingers through, a curvaceous figure that was simply to die for, and a beautiful smile that made you weak at the knees with jealousy.

At least, you had told yourself it was jealousy. 

That’s why you don't expect much from the group of soldiers coming into town, why you are caught off guard when you see her.

\-------

Elizabeth told you that it was customary to throw nice things to the soldiers. If you were lucky, one might even come find you later to return the gift, maybe even stay for dinner.

She comes in first on a large black stallion, dressed in military regalia decorated with medals of different make and size. One of her sleeves is nonexistent, showing off her arm with interwoven tattoos and the largest biceps you had ever seen on anyone, let alone on a woman. You had read in one of our books that orcish tattoos were symbols of triumphs, a long and well-fought life. She had clearly been victorious many times.

Unlike Maurice or Frederick, her hair isn’t short or weirdly ratty, but long and pulled back into a tight ponytail, lustrous and shiny. Her tusks seem to perfectly fit the confident smirk she has and when her dark brown eyes meet yours, she sends you a wink.

You thank the stars for the group of soldiers which follow her, mostly humans, and your infamously terrible aim. It means you can throw your scarf to her, feigning a faulty throw amidst the wave of gifts for the other soldiers. But you can’t hide your fancy when she catches your scarf quickly, her arm like a snake, snatching it out of the air before taking a long look at it. She shoots you another heart-stopping smile.

You feel one of the girls rub your shoulder. Your neighbor, Rebecca, sends you a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll get your chance with the other soldiers.”

Your smile, small and well-practiced, is enough to convince her of your disappointment. Rebecca turns back to the crowd but you are focused on the orc woman. Your scarf is now wrapped around her palm as she rides one-handed. She draws in and soaks up the attention, her chest held high and her eyes gleaming. 

A lot of things are making sense to you now.

\------

Your father's biases are obvious, but he has yet to turn away a paying customer, even orcs. And although you know many of the townsfolk would agree with him on that, a sizeable crowd had amassed around her as she began another story in your tavern.

“There I was, face-to-face with a chimera, nothing but the clothes on my back, my mother’s knife, and my 11-year-old wits with me-”

“Oh Shel, I thought you said you were 10 last time!” Another soldier playfully jeers. She just waves her hand indignantly at him, smile still large and bright.

“It's my bloody story Gerald, get off my ass! Anway, it was the dead of night-”

Her stories only attract more and more customers, this is the happiest you’ve seen your father in weeks. Her confidence reminds you of everything you want to be, her action-packed life stirs your stomach with longing for something similar. You choose to ignore the fluttering of your heart that tells you that perhaps her raspy baritone is doing a bit more than making you envious.

You had insisted working the tavern tonight, for...no reason at all. You make sure you are the one bringing her table it’s constant flow of drinks, but don’t get too close to the orc woman on your mind. You sneak glances, catching how her chest flexes when she spreads her arms out wide in the midst of storytelling, the power in her thighs when she slams a foot down on a table for dramatic effect. Just a couple seconds and the bubbling feeling in your gut overwhelms you. You make sure to run back into the kitchen with an empty tray, before anyone notices the way your eyes take in every part of her.

Her voice is just nice, that’s all, that’s it.

\-------

The rambunctious energy lasts until 3 A.M., when everyone remembers there is a tourney to prepare for in a couple days. Your father and sisters have been asleep for two hours by now, so you are alone, wiping down tables and counting the change, having shooed away the other workers. Maybe the monotony of cleaning will get your mind off things. Some alone time may do you good.

“I apologize for the time love, but I-” You jolt up from underneath the table, having been scraping away at an extra-stubborn stain from the floorboards, hitting your head as you realize you are not as alone as you thought you were.

“Ah!”

“Oh goodness doll are you alright?” Stumbling off of your knees, you reach for something to stabilize yourself with and feel iron and fabric. “There there, I got ya’.”

It’s her lower forearm. Your hand is gripping her arm tight.

Her other hand barely brushes your shoulder before you jump back, eyes shooting up.

_ Golly she’s so tall. _

Her eyes are just as deep and warm in the more somber lamplight as it was under the bright sun. They crinkle up in concern.

_ Oh right, my clumsy ass.  _

“Oh! Oh yes I’m fine, it's nothing just…” Her hands slide to adjust your shoulders, helping your balance. You notice every callous, fine line, just how big they are, yet somehow catch your breath. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

She gives an affirmative nod while your hands rub over your wash rag multiple times, skirting the line between enough eye contact with her and the ground.

“Well, as I was saying, I apologize for the time. Me and the lads don’t seem to know where the time goes with a couple drinks in.” You shake your hand, not trusting your voice to sound calm at a time like this. “Not very gentle of me to keep you up this late, ‘specially not when I haven’t given it back yet.” 

The butterflies are back as she reaches down and grabs your palm, pulling out your scarf from her back pocket.

_ Huh, guess the girls were right. _

“Oh, t-thank you. You didn’t have to, it was no problem-”

“Nonsense, I may be a heavy drinker but I have  _ some _ manners.” She chuckles and you return it with your own. Her’s sounds much more pleasant to your ears. The scarf has replaced your wash rag, now looping it in between your fingers. There’s some comfort to be found in the silky quality, but not much. 

“It’s a beautiful scarf, I’m very happy I was able to snatch it before anyone else.” She pulls one of the chairs out and takes a seat, looking at you the entire motion. “Especially since such a pretty lass like you threw it.” 

Your giggle is far less controlled this time, your fingers tightening around your scarf as you look for a place to sit. “Well thank you. It felt right when you are so pretty yourself.” Shel’s smirk widens and she takes a small swig from a nearby flagon, left over from cleaning. 

The modicum of confidence in you doesn’t quite know where to go or what to do at this moment, as you both look at one another. Your mouth decides to take the lead.

“I actually weaved it myself you know.” Shel hums into another sip as she sets her cup down.

“Impressive. A beauty and good with your hands, I’m surprised your pa’s not beating suitors away with a stick.” That gets a genuine laugh out of you. The snorting one that makes your father grimace. You try to cover it up with a cough like Elizabeth taught you to. Shels’ eyes widen slightly but so does her smile. “And quite a nice laugh to go with it.”

You wave your hand dismissively as you grab a stool from the bar, sitting on the other end of the table. “I think my etiquette teacher would disagree with you on that. Never could match that ‘tinkling bells’ sound she was looking for.”

Shel’s real laugh is bellyfull, strong like every other part of her, drawing up the corners of your lips. She makes it easy to join in the fun. “I’m not joking! She even had a small little bell on her belt loop she would use to test us!” 

\--------

“So, I think you probably know enough of me and my family and you probably can surmise everything about this tiny town from just a glance, but how about you?”

From the pool of wax and your slowing, croaking voice, it must be reaching 4:30 if not 5 in the morning. But you don’t feel the weight on your eyes or any yawns in your throat. Talking to Shel feels like nothing.

“Oh not too special, simple orc family, quite a boring tale. But my mother was in the royal guard as well you see, so is my brother, so they got me into the whole business. I was actually with them when I first fought a Warg, that's where I got this tattoo.” Shel points to a geometric, red design on her inner-arm, looking to you with a large smile.

“Now  _ that’s _ a good story, you see I-”

“Do you miss them?” She stops and turns towards you. The tips of your ears burn, you thought you had learned better to interrupt, especially after Jane had laid into about it when you were eight. “Your family, I mean.”

She nods her head, looking back at her arm and stroking it softly. “I suppose so, yeah. Yeah I do.” 

The silence, for once, doesn’t suffocate your comments or stuff up your mouth. Instead it emboldens you to reach over and stroke the top of her hand. “I’d imagine so. Do you get to visit them often?”

“Not as often I would like. But-” She stretches her arm behind her head, laying them against the back of her skull. Your fingers clench around the now empty space, and her biceps are making it a bit hard to focus again. “Duty calls. Got places to be, work to be done. I chose this life and I’m right good at it too. So, no complaints here.” She chuckles again, but her eyes are stuck looking up at the ceiling.

“Do you like it? Being in the army?”

“Haha, I think I have enough tattoos to show how good-”

“But do you like it?” Damn, another interruption. Shel seems to be unfolding all of your sister’s hard work. Her arms come down into her lap, she’s now rubbing her knuckles. You consider handing her the scarf again, it seemed to help you.

“Enough, I like it enough.” For the first time, she avoids  _ your _ eyes. You wonder if it’s to hide the drained bravado. “It pays the bills.”

It doesn’t clog your ears but the quiet is far from comfortable. Perhaps you have jutted into things too far. Giselle said you were bad about that. 

“I have parchment.” Her pupils back to you, but your hands are once again fiddling with the scarf in your lap. “And some lovely stationery. The post office here is mighty nice too. Can send something like a letter halfway across the country in just two days. Would you like to borrow some?” A string is coming loose from your scarf, you make a mental note to fix it later.

“Really?”

“Of course. As you heard I don’t really have anyone to write too, no sense in letting it go to waste.” 

You’re beginning to feel foolish for suggesting something so trivial yet so intimate, your confidence seeping away, back into the shadows it usually hides in. You have to fight away the instinct to pull at the loose string to release the tension in your fingers. Before you get the chance to, Shels hands are encasing yours. She’s now rubbing your knuckles.

“Thank you. That means a lot ____”

No pet name this time. You wonder if this is what Elizabeth meant, when she said James' voice sounded like it was made to say her name.

“It’s no problem, the least I could do.” You're used to her smile by now, you should be. Doesn’t stop it from awaking the butterflies in your stomach. But you find they don’t bother you as much as before.

\-------

By some miracle, you survive the next day. Running on only three hours of sleep lets you blame your absent-mindedness on the excitement of the soldier’s arrival and the tourney. 

You don’t see Shel the next couple of days, but you hear of her practicing in the newly-erected arena. The soldiers all are partaking in individual sparring sessions and encourage any townsfolk who wish to to join them. You don’t need to hear the disgruntled mutters at the tavern to know she swept them all of their feet.

The morning of the tourney, you “sleep through” the meet up with the other single girls.

With some pillows stuffed under your blanket, you sneak out to the field bordering the edge of the forest, rich in wildflowers. After looking at your simple bundle you ponder spending some over your savings on a more beautiful bouquet. But the thought of prying questions, asking  _ who  _ you were giving them to has your hands shaking. Better not risk it.

For good measure, you tie the flowers together with your scarf, hoping the sentiment makes up for the lacking adornments.

\-------

As you expected, she  _ does _ sweep through the tournament. Although her fellow soldiers are formidable, she seems to fight on another level. Her battle axe is ferocious and huge, but she swings it with the same grace which she caught your scarf. Despite her large build she is lightning fast, swiping at Achilles tendons, then bludgeoning noses in with the butt-end of her axe. She quickly becomes a fan-favorite. Villagers and visitors alike are cheering her name by the final match.

You made great efforts to avoid the clustered group of the town’s bachelorettes, instead crouching near the large entrance. Being unnoticeable, as you do best. 

You do see the glint of a promise ring on Marianettes finger, which she proudly flaunts to the other girls. Seems her and Maurice made up.

When her opponent is struck down after a blow to the back of the knee, the crowd breaks into uproarious applause. You cover your mouth as you squeal and jump and down. There was little question of her victory, but she holds up her hands and gives a thunderous. There is a pounding chant of her name, you join them.

\------

You pray your father will excuse your lateness with after-tourney revelry, hopefully assuming you are out with the other girls. More than anything the celebration at the tavern will keep him happy enough for the night, drunk enough to ignore your absence.

Waiting for the other fans to leave, you once again look at your tiny bundle of flowers. It’s simplicity seems far more obvious when you see the waves of gifts Shel has recieved. But you suck it in, fake the confidence you had night days ago, and approach her as she consolidates her things in a back room.

She’s running her hands over a studded belt, another gift, when she sees you. It’s dropped and her smile widens to fit her whole face. You try to remind your confidence to stay where it is.

“You….that was….you fought amazing today.” She chuckles and makes a gesture towards her right arm.

“Told ya I was good at what I do.” She flexes her dominant arm, giving you another large smile. You return it with your own.

“Yes, yes you are.” It’s only when your fingers start to pull at the flower stems that you remember you are here with a gift. A gift for her. “Well, these are for you.”

Your bouquet is shoved into her chest quickly, because you think you might back out if you sit and ruminate on them any longer. Shel takes her time looking at each flower, her index finger looping around the loose bow string. 

The thought that observing the room would quell your awkwardness is a bad move. You instantly see three or more bouquets twice your size and twice as expensive. Shel still hasn’t spoken.

“I know they aren’t much, I picked them myself. Also, no real ribbon, so I used the scarf. Probably could have swung by the the ribbon shop now that I think about it, sorry it probably looks silly-”

“____, I love them.” 

Right, you were rambling. The stinging sensation of a ruler is almost real on the back of your hand, so is the feeling of your father’s palm tight on your shoulder. It melts away when Shel embraces you in a large hug.

Her arms and chest are warm, but Shel doesn’t burn or singe your skin like a slap on the cheek or a scolding. More like a freshly dried blanket, or when you lay out in the sun for a bit too long.With the height difference it’s easy to bury your face into her shoulder, snuggling into her body heat, your fingers digging and searching into her back.

“____?”

You let out a small “hmm?” to acknowledge her question, face still tucked into the crevice between her shoulder and neck. It’s hard to leave.

“May I kiss you?”

You hope she doesn’t feel the way your body tenses and gets the wrong idea. Your eyes are wide as you pull your face away from her to lock eyes. She’s not smiling, but you don’t sense anything but contentment from her eyes

“Y-yes, I think I would like that.” Shel smiles, small, her eyes flickering with that confidence again, and leans in.

It’s embarrassing to say that you had pondered  _ many _ times how kissing with tusks could work, especially in this past week. Considering Shel is your first kiss, you don’t think you're qualified to say if she’s the exception or the rule just yet. But gods, she is  _ exceptional _ .

Your hands press into her chest as Shel’s arms tighten around, tugging you closer by the waist as her face presses into yours. You thought the romance novels exaggerated when they said how easily one can easily lose themselves in a good kiss. You were wrong.

You were wrong about a lot of things.

The kiss ends and she has once again left you breathless. Shel’s eyes roves over your face, drinking in your bruised lips and flustered cheeks, smirking while brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. Her smile only works to make it harder for you to inhale and exhale properly.

“That was really good.” You have never wanted to slap yourself in the face more than in the second after you say that. “Not good. It was great, really great actually.”

Shel tries to stifle her laugh and goddamnit is it cute. 

“Thanks, I agree.” She leans in to lay a peck on your cheek. Then another. And another.

Shivers wrack your body as you close your eyes and decide to just relish in the onslaught of small kisses peppering your chin, cheek, and neck.

“Can I,”  _ kiss _ “ write,”  _ kiss _ “to you,”  _ kiss _ “using that stationary?”

Shel allows you to collect your thoughts so you can answer, halting the barrage of affection. After a couple seconds, all you can muster is a nod as you lean in to give her a quick peck on the lips. Shel takes it eagerly.

“I should”  _ kiss _ “probably get”  _ kiss _ “going.” Shel stops, leaving your final kiss with a tighter smile.

“Work to be done, huh?” You nod, mustering the will to push your chest away from hers, yet not out of her arms. 

_ Just a little longer. _

“Yes, yes there is.” You pat your hand on her chest, brushing away the non-existent dust from it. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow. In the morning.” The room seems to shake as your heart drops into your belly.

_ Not long enough. _

“So soon?” Shel nods, her eyes glancing at your collarbones as she rubs your hips. 

Logically, you knew she wouldn’t be in town long. But it only amplifies that nagging voice in your head.

_ This would never work. _

It sounds like your sisters, your father. Marionette and Maurice, Rebecca and Frederick. You don’t want to listen to it.

“I’ll let you sleep. Long day ahead of you.”

You leap into the icy cold, out of her arms and back into the night. Shel's last smile looks like a promise, one you hope you can keep.

\------

After cleaning up the tavern, an aftermath of a long night of celebration, you can’t help but pity the poor soldiers who must leave so early. They feign confidence fairly well, although anyone can see their exhaustion. The townsfolk are all waving goodbye, though you expect to hear grumblings of the “soldiers mess” and “capital snobs” ruminate through your tiny home for the next two weeks, at least. 

You are with the girls, Mariannette hanging to the side, her arm wrapped around Maurice. It’s another custom to throw parting gifts to soldiers, those who caught your fancy and you hope will come back for more. Your father is nowhere to be seen, afforded the luxury to sleep his hangover off. But your sisters are not too far from you, with their husbands close by, waving politely to the army.

Shel leads the group, back tall but no smile, not when no one is looking. You didn’t see her at the tavern last night. 

Before hitting a point where the waves and cheers won’t reach, Shel halts the horses and turns around, giving one less victorious smile and raising her fist. The people raise a hurray for her, the tourney champion.

She cocks her head to you with a smaller, softer smile. A blue scarf now tied around her waist, several wildflowers peeking out of her saddle bag.

_ Now. _

You shuffle past the front lines, rudely brushing your shoulders against girls you’ve known all your life, to run out past the crowd. Shels’ eyes widen as you raise your arms and begin to shout.

“You better write to me! You promised, I won’t forget it, do you hear me?”

There's a low murmur of gasps from behind you, the piercing stares of your sisters try to drill into you. They are deafened by Shel’s huge grin as she raises her horse up in a rear, laughing loudly. 

“I won’t ____! I promise I won’t forget you either!”

She sends you a thumbs up and you guffaw. Snorting unladylike and waving enthusiastically, jumping up and down. 

You are so going to get yelled at later.

You don’t care. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I took the saying "be the good you want to see in the world" too seriously and decided to start a series a of monster romance fics. Also might consider writing a part two to this since it ends ambiguously.


End file.
